"walkabouts" poems
The first time I made love to my mind
When love escaped from the gaps
Between our silences and overthinkings
I saw the naked mind.
We sailed from thousand cuddles of imprudence
To a long warm kiss of sanity.
While I dwindled in her arms of fool's paradise
No sleep just one long weary night,
Her ****** reeked of loneliness
I licked it. Hoping to taste ingenuity,
it was the aftertaste of forsaken feelings
that made me ***** her
till she stopped moaning neon dreams.
Somewhere in my walkabouts in her
I created deep craters of memories
Which she took for love bites
were, in fact, scars for life.
We were virgins on our quests
Thirsting our way through wanting and longing......
She made me swallow lust
Slowly. Heavily downtown.
And fingered it, the ***** of thoughts
Ruptured.
And she bled musings.
And Phantasmagoria exuding from her holes
And Spurting into mine like a cascade of brooding melancholy.....
And.... And....
The night my mind lost its virginity,
I sat down to write.
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 6:21 AM UTC
My bedsheets envelop me
with the familiar scent of home
as I lie comforted
in their warm embrace.
Outside my window,
crows call from maple trees
their leaves tipped in gold and ochre,
while raven visitors welcome me.
Sprinkled with bits of bleached sand,
my dashboard is a daily reminder
of my my beach-time walkabouts
where I kept my hopes and dreams.
My tropical adventure,
now just a memory in snapshots
lies packed away with shells and other mementos,
as I embrace tomorrow.
Summer's sultry days
with their myriad of challenges,
have molded me into the woman I am,
and who I will become.
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 9:04 PM UTC
I take a step back, pivoting on my right foot
to remember behind me a clearing in the trees
by the old apartment complex
where dirt raked over by lifetimes of weary
American walkabouts
snakes down hawk-eyed, single-minded
toward the old muddy river.
One might brush aside broken branches
blocking the way like so many nails and thorns
but I know the way.
At the bank where acid rain and sewage
can lick the dying summer dandelions
I try to cash a check for one epiphany
before it starts to rain more violently.
A suitcase probably designed to hold a laptop
lies abandoned by a crushed beer can and
a newspaper clipping filled with prophesies
written to a dying world about a world soon to be dead.
I look inside but no glint of metal shines back
at unsuspecting hopeful children eyes.
Turned over with a fallen stick
lying in a field of blood nearby
a giant slug is stuck to the back of
the faded leather bag dropped for
God-knows-what-reason.
A snake slithers away back up the trail,
I hear a hawk screech into the gray sky,
and I swat a spider hanging from
the nearest tree almost alive in the sunset
bearing the weight of the world.
Feb 8, 2011
Feb 8, 2011 at 7:03 PM UTC
And the band played waltzing Matilda
by
jude kyrie
First of all y ou have to know me.
I am not wild or adventurous girl.
I read, and go to small get togethers.
so grounded so conservative.
A girl from new New England.
A schoolteacher I get lost
in the shadows at parties.
I was nothing like him at all
Not like the tall strong rugby playing
adventure seeking Aussie man
with the wild Aussie accent.
We met when he visited Boston
I am on walkabouts
he said to me in the book store.
I asked him if he Did not have a car.
He laughed
No darlin I mean I am travelling
The world I got restless in OZ
and they call it walkabout.
He took me for coffee
I had never seen such a big
Beautiful man as he.
Every other word
Was right mate
or no worries love..
But for some reason that
I shall never understand.
He liked me
and he would not take no
for an answer.
I felt like a little girl in his arms.
He could pick me up like a feather
Lifting me over his head
Your a bit of alright Darlin.
.he would say.
Or ****** love
you are a *******
Whatever that meant
I got used to him being around.
He made me laugh.
He always cheered me up
Why I married
him I will never know.
I worried about his giant
frame towering over me..
But. I should not have.
He was the sweetest kindest man
I have ever known.
He treated me like gold.
Always, So gentle so loving.
He made me so happy.
I know he missed his Australian home.
But he never complained.
He said I love you Darlin.
We will get back home one day.
I don't think I have ever been as happy
as that time with him.
I thought giants lived forever.
But they don't.
They are just as frail
as us small people.
When he became sick.
He made little off it.
******
I will shake it off in a fortnight.
No worries love.
Give us a kiss.
But I did worry.
...I knew ...I knew..I knew.
Finally at the end he said
I got a last request honey.
Honey ..his only American word.
I kissed him.
Anything Anything my love.
Spread my ashes on Australian soil
It don't matter much.where.
Just Anywhere.
but have them sing
Waltzing Matilda for me love.
When I lost him
My world was not as bright.
But I kept my promise.
I took his ashes back to OZ.
There was a huge
Australian football match
With half of Sydney there.
As a hundred thousand people
singing his beloved
Waltzing Matilda.
At the football match.
I Let his ashes loose and free
into a cool breeze that seemed
To know he was back home.
He flew away far into
the wide open Australian sky.
Where I knew he was happiest.
And I whispered
Goodbye my sweet
Australian gentle giant.
And the band
Were playing waltzing matilda.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 6:30 PM UTC
i am the beat
the crescent shape
of a bent
smile
before a row of
coffee stained teeth.
i am the heart
that seeps
into bathtubs
filled with
blue water
before the blood
turns red
as it bleeds.
i am a pair
of wobbly knees
bent beneath
the thorax
of a
pious human being.
i am the voice
that screams
into the
fractaled crags
of a
barren
canopy
made of
the tops of dying
trees.
i am the
thinning heat;
the quickened
silver drops
of mercury clung
to the
mercurial
summer solstice
breeze.
i am that
i am these
and those
over there
the filthy and
the clean.
i am the
saddened longing
for what
hides
between
the
knees -
the skirts
the kilts
i am birds
i am bees.
i am
the Christ
born again at
11:11 am
gestations in the
akashic amniotic
fluid of
celestial
Krishna Kosmic
seas.
i am the dragon
belching
fires
as he breathes -
the
coiled serpent
sleeping
at the
base
of the
Knowledge Tree.
i am safe
because
i am He
and She
i am
the babe
at the *****
of the
Holy Mother,
i am
the Crone
on a
long
incarnation’s
Eve.
i am the
wounded
and the
weak;
the boastful,
macho - man ********
and the
humility
of the meek.
i am the
paycheck
at the end of a long
two weeks
and the long
walkabouts
of lotus- trodden
feet.
i am the
sinew
in
the
meat,
the tea
while it steeps,
the
pressure of the deeps;
i am the
EKG-
magnetic
snake skins
and
electric beeps.
i am the
one
who
perceives -
my self
upheld
in the arms of
Isis
swaddled in
Her
sleeves.
i am the lute
i am She
Who plucks my strings
Who listens
Who watches
while
i
dance
while
i
sing.
Jun 19, 2022
Jun 19, 2022 at 4:05 PM UTC
My inspiration
has gone walkabouts
My imagination
cleared right up
Each step I've taken
through inked meadows
Every wave I've surfed
of rhythmic flows
Did I take a wrong turn
or have I reached an end
Does my flame no longer burn
and will it ever mend
I look to my left
I look to my right
Only blankess to ingest
An empty night
I turn each page
Blank, unwritten
No where to engage
Inspiration has hidden
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC